A New Beginning
by shabbacabba
Summary: The Courier promised to come for her, but how long must Christine wait? FemCourier/Christine One shot for now, will write more if people like it. If I add more the rating will go up.


**3****rd**** Person**

On the edge of the fountain, in the middle of a city of ghosts, The Courier sits; a cigarette hanging limply from her lips, a single thought pounding against the walls of her mind.

_Christine._

Ever since her panicked escape from the Sierra Madre not but an hour ago she has sat there, contemplating her next move. Two forces have been at work deep in her psyche. One is telling her to get the hell out of this place, and to do it as quickly as humanly possibly. But the other thought, the other force, is strong enough to make her hesitate. A part of her, that at first only whispered and has been growing steadily louder every minute of indecision, is now practically screaming at her to find Christine, make her safe, and to take her from this God forsaken hole of toxins, greed, and death.

A sound The Courier has come to both dread and hate issues forth from a space one hundred feet directly in front of her; the strange bleating screech of the Ghost People. Her head snaps up from staring at her boot clad feet to glare at the source of the intrusion of her thoughts – a smaller Ghost person dragging a gas bomb in its right hand. Before the Courier can even think, or the Ghost can take another step, her instincts have kicked in and the police revolver formerly at her hip is in her hand, and pointing straight at the abominations forehead. Realizing almost too late that a head shot will in no way end the creatures existence she snaps her aim down and to the left – right onto the gas bomb in the thing's hand. She squeezes the trigger just as the bomb is beginning its trip toward her, the report of the pistol adding to the sound of the explosion that rips the ghost person apart. The things body is thrown back and to the right before meeting the wall with a meaty slap, sliding down the wall to be consumed by the flames left by its own bomb.

The Courier allows a small proud smile to grace her features before putting the revolver back in its holster. She takes one last drag of her cigarette and throws it to the ground, grinding it out under her boot. Her smile transforms from one of pride to one of actual humor when a thought hits her.

**1****st**** Person - Courier**

Wouldn't want the place to burn down now would we? My lips turning up even farther than before and a small ironic laugh worming its way out of my throat. I don't get how this town is even standing. From what I learned at the various terminals scattered around this hellhole the place was built far below pre-war standards. It should have collapsed within a year after the bombs fell. But no, it still stands, covered in a deadly blood-colored toxin, its sole purpose to lead curious explores like myself to their deaths. Fuck this place I need to get back to the Mojave. Standing up I look down to check myself over, like I always do before heading out, and wince when I see what I'm wearing. A memory pulls at me, begging me to succumb and relive it. With a trembling sigh my eyes close.

_I'm back in the former suite of Vera Keyes. The furniture still in immaculate condition, the walls barely even beginning to shed their paint, the very skeleton of Vera herself in the far corner, her dress hanging from the bones in a sick parody of beauty, and just in front of me, a smile on her face, is Christine._

_Her eyebrow is pulled up and she's looking at me with eyes that look almost … hungry. I didn't notice that before._

"_Are you sure you don't want the assassin suit back?" My memory self asks, an almost incredulous edge to her voice._

_She motions towards herself, or more precisely, at the suit of armor she is wearing. Her lips part and even as her voice like silk issues forth her eyes never leave my body. "I'm sure. Besides, it fits you like a glove." When her eyes finally return to my own a brilliant smile breaks across my face._

Opening my eyes I turn toward the entrance of the Sierra Madre and start off at an easy jog. I can't leave her here. I won't.

It took just a few minutes to get back to the casino I had run out of only an hour before. I stand in the entrance yet again in search of a teammate, but for an entirely different reason than last time. As the familiar whirring-snarl-like sounds of the ghost people reach my ears I reach over my shoulder and take the strange, and very heavy, automatic rifle from my back. It may be cumbersome and unusual looking but it packs one hell of a punch. Bringing the rifle up I scan the room for the creature those sounds must be originating from and I find it. It is at the top of the stairs to my left. And it's looking right at me, a spear poised in its hand, ready to fly. It's times like these that I'm thankful for the thing on wrist. Without its VATS function I don't think I would have been able to snap the sights onto that things forehead and shoot in time to stop it. The two round burst flying out of the barrel and causing the Ghost's mask clad head to explode, its green blood splattering everything within a few feet of its corpse. Crouching down and holding my breath I tune all my senses to my surroundings, my eyes flickering around the area quickly, uneasily.

After a few moments have passed in utter silence I get to my feet and move towards the very stairs the Ghost person was at the top of. These stairs will take me to the elevator for the suites area. I might as well start my search there.

**1****st**** Person – Christine**

Elijah, the greatest traitor the Brotherhood has ever known, is finally dead. Or at least he will be when whatever food and water he has runs out. Trapped in the very thing he had been lusting after for who knows how many years, gotten people killed for, is the only justice deserving of him. I am so grateful that Angel convinced me to let him go. I feel free for the first time in years. Free to go on with my life now that the bastard is as good as dead. But that sense of freedom, of release, is tainted by sadness. I have been waiting here in Vera Keyes suite for an hour now and still Angel has not come for me like she promised. I sit here on the bed that once belonged to a great singer, a singer whose voice I now have, and I let the sadness, the grief flow through me unabated. My eyes are shut tightly, have been since I felt the first pricking of tears at the corners of my eyes. Only a few tears have managed to squeeze their way out, flowing down my cheeks to the scars that originate from the corners of my mouth and flowing down them into my mouth.

What am I going to do now? Without my mission, without Angel, what purpose do I have? I can't return to the Brotherhood, they'd never recognize me with the scars and new voice. My past life is lost to me, forever out of reach. The tears flow faster down my cheeks as that realization hits. In the past few years I had been so focused on finding and killing Elijah that I never took the time to think of what would come next. Now that I think about it I … I have nowhere to go. Maybe I should just stay here, in the casino.

Make sure that Elijah never gets out.

A small smile pulls at the corners of my scarred lips but I don't open my eyes. Yes that's what I'll do. That will be my mission. I will watch over the casino, make sure that Elijah can never get free and kill him if he does.

The sound of the elevator doors opening on the other side of the floor gives me a start, my eyes flying open, my vision blurred with unshed tears. Blinking my vision clear I move to get off the bed. The Ghost People will kill me if I don't…

Wait!

Ghost People don't know how to use elevators. Then that must mean that…

I can just barely make out the sound of boots hitting carpet in the hallway. The sound of boots that were once mine, but that I gave to Angel along with the rest of my assassin outfit coming quickly down the hallway, towards me.

Hope fills my heart as I turn my head towards the bedroom door. The doors to the main floor of the suite open with a loud bang. They must have been opened _very_ forcefully. And then, standing there in the doorway, her long black hair a mess from past battles, the assassin suit snug around her body, leaving just enough to the imagination to be unbearably sexy, is Angel. Her eyebrows shoot upwards showing her shock when her eyes find me, but her lips pull up into a very genuine, very sexy smile.

The rifle on her shoulder falls to the ground, and then she's moving towards me. Before I can blink her arms are around me, pulling me from my sitting position on the edge of the bed and cradling my head to her chest. Almost automatically my arms snake around her waist, pulling my body flush against hers. She whispers my name into my hair, and I whisper hers right back. When I say her name she goes still for the briefest of seconds before relaxing into my arms again. We hold each other like that, swaying slightly, for an immeasurable moment. A moment I never wanted to end.

"I couldn't leave you here." I pull back to look up at her face through the tears in my eyes. She looks vulnerable – scared even – something I have never seen her be before. I have seen her angry, focused, compassionate, even in pain but she was never vulnerable, let alone _scared_, around me. "Please come with me. Back to the Mojave. You deserve better than this place." Her eyes are boring into mine, hope radiating from them in tangible waves. How can I say no? How can I refuse something that I myself want? Better yet, why should I?

I smile and open my mouth to answer but my voice is choked with emotion, so I close my mouth and nod, a smile fixed firmly on my lips.

Her reaction takes me completely by surprise.

She leans down, closing her eyes and tilting her head slightly, before her lips meet mine. My eyes go wide before fluttering shut of their own accord and then I'm kissing her back. The kiss is slow, gentle, but with an undercurrent of passion so strong that it sends a thrill of excitement down my spine. After a few moments we break apart, our eyes meeting. The intensity of her stare sends another thrill down my spine to reside in my core as a dull throbbing ache.

She's slightly breathless as she says "I have wanted to do that since the moment I met you."

I tilt my head to the side slightly. "Really?"

Her eyes go from almost purely lustful to an emotion that looks more like adoration, or even love, as she responds. "Of course, when I saw you inside that Auto-doc I just wanted to make your pain go away. Kissing you was just the first thing that came to mind."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "You only wanted to comfort me?"

She smiles as her hand comes up to cup my cheek. I can't help but to lean into her touch. "Well, you are indescribably beautiful and, even then, I could tell you'd have an amazing soul." She leans down close again and whispers "I wasn't wrong." And then her lips brush against mine quickly, but lovingly, before they're gone again.

"How could you possibly think that these scars are beautiful?" I narrow my eyes in confusion and she sighs, breaking our gaze to examine the wall. Her thumb absentmindedly rubs cheeks as she gathers her thoughts.

"How do I put it?" Is she talking to herself? She gives a slight nod and moves her eyes back to mine. "Scars are a sign of strength. They show the world that you endured something that would have broken most people – and you did." Her hand moves to my forehead to trace the scars there. "I …" she pauses for a moment, frowning as her eyes scan my face. "Your scars are a badge of honor. They are as much a part of you as power armor is a part of a Brotherhood knight. Without it, you are incomplete." Her eyes shoot to the ceiling and her frown deepens. "Maybe that's the wrong comparison. I don't mean that the scars define who you are, but without them you wouldn't be the same person. If that makes sense." Her eyes fall back to my own and a small smile tugs at her lips. "I do think that scars are attractive, because I find strength attractive, and scars show strength." Her expression turns from serious to adoring, her smile growing a fraction and her eyes, those beautiful orbs of blue, softening before she continues in a much quieter voice. "You are the strongest women I have ever met, and I love you because of that."

I can't find the words to respond, her heartfelt speech, the conviction of her words, has stunned me into complete silence. Something snaps within me, sending me onto my tip-toes and my mouth onto hers yet again. This kiss is neither slow nor gentle, but fueled by the passion of the emotions running through me. Her lips move against mine eagerly, and before I know it, our tongues are wrestling in the space between us. I break off just long enough to manage a whispered "I love you." into her ear and then my lips are back on hers, our tongues continuing their dance as if they were never interrupted. My hand goes up to entwine in her hair, pulling her impossibly closer. It had not occurred to me before that moment that I did in fact love this woman. It does explain a lot though. How depressed I was when I thought she wasn't going to come for me, how scared I was when she was in the vault – alone – with Elijah, how her very presence seems to give me a purpose. She thinks strength is attractive? It was her strength that first endeared her to me, followed quite quickly by her perception, intelligence, and her understanding. My other hand, which had been massaging the muscles of Angle's lower back, moves down over her Velcro-and-nylon covered rear. She lets out an adorable squeak when I give an ample squeeze to one cheek, but then she pulls back, her hand on my shoulder to hold me back.

"Christine, let's not take this too far. I want to get you back to Vegas first." Her lips, red and full from my ministrations, turn into a very proud grin as she continues. "I want to show you _my_ city as soon as possible."

"What do you mean; 'my city'?"

"Exactly that! Vegas _is_ mine. Can I just explain on the way? I really want to get out of this hellhole."

I nod my head once. "Sure, let's get out of here." I will have quite a few questions for her during the journey to the Mojave. She never mentioned before that she practically _owns_ the only intact pre-war city in existence. Our arms finally fall away from each other and she turns and strolls to the door, bending at the waist to pick up the rifle she dropped on her way in giving me a great view of her ass. My tongue lolls out to wet my lips. I take one step toward her before shaking my head of my dirty thoughts. Later Christine, I remind myself, we'll have time for _that_ later. She throws the rifle strap over her shoulder and turns to me.

"Come here." Her hand rises and her finger curling and uncurling in a hither motion. Moving over to her she holds her hand out to show me the Pip-boy on her arm. It is currently displaying the weapons screen, with three weapons listed. She motions with her other hand toward the screen and says "Pick anyone you'd like. I don't have a preference." She smiles at me and I return it before selecting the Holorifle from the display. Reaching behind her she pulls the weapon from her back and hands it to me, along with at least a hundred and fifty microfusion cells. I put the extra cells in the ammo packs around my waist and sling the rifle over my shoulder.

I look at Angel and nod. "Let's go."

_Authors Note:_ Well this was surprisingly easy to write. Anyway read and review. OH! In your reviews tell me whether you think I should continue this or if I shouldn't. I am a little unsure of my depiction of Christine, Is she OOC? If she is, how so? Of course she is a pretty vague character in-game. Oh well.


End file.
